A Peaceful End - Scotland
by Star Braginski
Summary: Allistor Kirkland, the human personification of Scotland, is tired of the ghosts that haunt him. Of the pain of being so hated. He's not a bad guy, no matter how others look at him. One night just makes it all go away. ((Short fic that might have a 2nd part- I'm not sure))
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Warnings - Personified Scotland, character death, language, alcohol, suicide, angst... I think that's it. Don't know where it came from, but it deffinately hit hard._

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What a shitty day. Allistor just wanted to grab a bottle and drown in his favorite whiskey. It felt needed at that point. He relaxed on the couch and got through half of it in silence before the phone rang. Great. Bleeding into the afternoon and he was already getting called. He checked the collar ID. Nope. No one he wanted to talk to. The booze was putting him in a better mood and he didn't want anything to crash that.

He grabbed another bottle of whiskey to chase the one in the den. He flopped back on the couch and, once the first bottle was gone, worked on the second. He swore a lot, words coming out muddled, at nothing in particular. Maybe just at himself. He was always mad at himself. Alli took the 3/4 empty bottle into the kitchen with him, for what only he knew, tripping over his own two feet and falling on the floor. The glass shattered under his hand and shards bit into his skin.

"Fuck!" He felt some in his shoulder and arm, more annoyed by losing the liquor than getting hurt. He got up, stepping on the mess as well. Was he seeing red? Huh- He was bleeding from it. With glass in his feet and right hand/arm, he went into the kitchen and felt around with his good hand for a pill bottle. Fuck, he hurt. Another bottle of whiskey and he probably wouldn't have cared.

Found it! How many was he supposed to take? With a shrug, he took the cap off of it and tipped the bottle back. Pleased with this solution for some odd reason, he went to the bathroom, trail of red behind him. Need to get the glass out... He curled into the tub and started picking at the bigger pieces of glass in his hand, dropping them on to the bathroom floor.

The white tub was stained red. It shouldn't have been red. He frowned and started on one of his feet, pausing every so often to shiver. Had it always been this cold in here? He felt numb, but didn't care. No. He didn't care about anything at that point. It was almost relaxing. Ebbing away slowly.

The tinkling of glass on the stone floor as he dropped it out of the tub... It sounded so pretty. Like chimes. He chuckled at the thought, picking glass out of his other foot now. Chimes. Clinking against each other and the stone. Red, though. They shouldn't be red. They were supposed to be clear, weren't they? So pretty. Maybe metal chimes would sound better? He pondered this, barely noticing he was loosing feeling in his fingers as he worked.

He rolled his head back. Huh. Was the phone ringing? Part of him wanted to go get it, but was drowned out by the rest of him which just wanted to stay there in the tub. Hmm. It was getting harder for him to grab and hold on to the shards, and he still had some in his shoulder. Sleepy. Blackness crept up at the edges of his vision. Blood smeared everywhere. He laid back and curled his arms around himself. Cold and sleepy. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he'd get warmer. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he'd be loved. Maybe his brothers wouldn't hate him. Maybe the memories of those tribes, what they did to him, will be gone. Maybe everything would be better once he fell asleep. Maybe was all that he had... His eyes drifted shut. Maybe he'd find peace... Maybe-


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur scowled, hanging up the phone. Wasn't Allistor home by now? With a sigh, he grabbed the paperwork that the Scotsman needed to sign and put it in a file. Typical of his brother to not answer the phone. The Brit picked up the phone again and dialed the number of one of his least favorite people.

"Bonjour?"

"Hey Francis..."

"L'Angleterre? Finally decide to take me up on my offer?"

"Hell no, you bloody frog!"

"Then why did you call, mon ami?"

"Look- Could you call Allistor and find out if he's home. I tried calling and he didn't answer."

"Oui. Give me a second."

Arthur heard the satisfying _click_ of Francis hanging up to go do exactly that. He leaned against the wall and waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five. Had Alli picked up? He shifted his weight on his feet. What was taking that wanker so long? When the phone buzzed a few moments later, he jumped to grab it.

"What the hell took so long?"

"He didn't answer. I called Liam. He said he saw the lights on when he passed his house. Alli's definitely home, just not picking up."

"Oh- Thanks. Bye."

"Au revoir."

The Brit hung up the phone and grabbed the file with a sigh. He climbed into his car and took off, heading for his brother's house. Clambering out, paperwork in tow, he went to the door and knocked. Nothing. So he knocked again and waited. Still nothing. Arthur turned the knob. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He went in and the scent of whiskey automatically filled his nose, making him feel uneasy. He walked into the kitchen. "Allis-" Sharp green eyes took in the scene: broken glass from a bottle, blood trailing to the counter then towards the back, a few stray pills on the floor, and an empty pill bottle on the counter. He cut himself off and let out a low hiss. Something didn't feel right here. Arthur yanked his cell out of his pocket and dialed Francis' number again.

"Bonj-"

"Something's wrong. There's blood and glass and pills on the floor..." The blond said quickly, cutting him off.

"Is Alli okay?" Francis sounded worried. He did, after all, still care about him.

"I haven't seen him yet..." Biting his bottom lip, Arthur followed the blood all the way into the bathroom. What he saw made him drop the phone and fall to his knees at the edge of the tub, being careful not to kneel on the glass. "Allistor?" His voice was shaky, uncertain. Was this really happening? "Alli? Come on and get up, you bloody git." A shaky hand reached out to press its fingers against the redhead's cool throat. A weak pulse pushed back. Allistor was deathly pale under all the red blood that stained both him and the tub, barely breathing. He looked so cramped in there. A small voice in the background, calling out his name, brought Arthur back to reality.

"Arthur! Arthur?! Is everything alright?! Did you find him?!" Francis' disembodied voice hung in the empty air. The Brit fumbled to grab it.

"Oh, Francis! He- Alli- Yes, I found him... But- He. I can't believe it! He's almost- All the blood!"

A soft hiss came from the other end. "Call an ambulance. I'll be on my way." With that, the Frenchman hung up. Arthur quickly dialed 9-1-1 and had an ambulance coming. That assistant kept him on the phone until the paramedics arrived. He stumbled to get off his feet and get them in there so they could get Allistor help. Arthur felt like he was going to be sick when the men came in and lifted his brother onto the gurney, carrying him into the ambulance. He felt so tired, so scared, yet at the same time he didn't think he'd ever be able to fall asleep again. His nerves were on fire. "Is he going to be okay?"

One of the paramedics stopped to talk to him, getting the basic information of what had happened before they arrived and let him into the car to rush them to the hospital. Arthur hated texting, but his voice was so shaky that he didn't trust it. _In the__ ambulance with him. Heading to the hospital. Meet me there._ He sent to his friend, forced to wait and watch the people scramble to save his brother's life. "Alli-" He squeaked, feeling tears bead up.

Time seemed to freeze. It stopped and laughed at him, mocked him and his mortality. His uselessness. Arthur paced in the waiting area, hands pulling at his own hair in frustration and worry. "Arthur-" Red-rimmed green eyes poked up and met gentle blue ones. He quickly fled to the relief that was Francis. "What happened, cher? Tell me."

So Arthur did. He retold coming home and seeing the grotesque mess, the fading body that was his brother. "He's going to be okay, isn't he? Please? Just tell me he is, even if it isn't true." The Brit pleaded, tears silently falling as he spoke. He'd buried his face into the others blue shirt, clinging to him helplessly. "Please-"

Francis pulled him into a hug. "Oui. He's going to be fine. I'm sure of it. He's stronger than that."

"But I don't know how long he was like that... It could have been minutes. It could have been hours."

"I know." The Frenchman didn't know what to say. "I still think he'll be fine. Just you wait. You'll see."

Arthur nodded weakly and Francis gently led him to the chairs where they sat and went through the treacherous thing called waiting.


End file.
